Me Together With You
by kkolmakov
Summary: M rated companion pieces to my story "Me Without You." Chapters 1 - 4 follow Chapter 34 of the original story. Chapter 5 is a smutty one-piece (can be read after Chapter 70 of MWY or independently) *No Infringement Intended*
1. Chapter 1

**Following Chapter 34 of _Me Without You..._**

The bedchamber was a large room, dimly lit by torches on the stone walls, with a fireplace cozily humming and crackling in the furthest wall. The furnishing was similar to what Wren had seen in the Erebor Halls, a thick carpet on the floor, a small table by the wall, two chairs, and rugs and furs on the floor in front of the fireplace. There was a wide, simple bed, a sturdy frame of dark wood, thick posts carved reminiscent of tree trunks, and something stirred in Wren's memory, some half forgotten dream, but she quickly threw the thought aside. The King, having entered the chamber, stood still now, and she turned around and closed the door behind her, without letting go of his hand.

She faced him again and met his eyes. There was passion in them, but also melancholy and uncertainty, and she inhaled deeply and it was her turn to lead him by the hand. They approached the bed, she sat on it and he took a place near her. The fingers of his second hand wrapped around her digits.

"Wren, let us speak first..." Her brows jumped up, from his purposeful, serious tone, and she gave him a small encouraging smile. He stroked her knuckles with his thumbs, her hands were warm and secure in his, and she basked even in this smallest of caresses. "Were I alive, zunshel, we never would have found ourselves in such circumstances..." His voice was somber, he was frowning, and she pressed her lips. Perhaps, she thought, he did not wish to say hurtful things, but the words stung. She was no Khuzd, and no match for a King, and yet she doubted such were the words one was to say to a woman who had just as much as agreed to bed one. She could have lied to herself that perhaps they were not understanding each other and that was not what he thought was transpiring in this room, but of course he did. "It is different for Dwarves, we do not..." He stumbled over his words, his eyes on her hands, and then he took a sharp breath in and gave her a direct look. "Had I any choice, I would not have lain with you before the wedding."

Wren gasped and looked at him in astonishment. Her mind worked fast, and the conclusions she could not help but draw out of his statement left her dumbfounded.

"Have you not ever..?" Her voice broke, and he met her squeak like question with a frown and, and she could not have found a better word for his expression, a pout.

"I have just as much as proposed to you, and you are concerned with my chastity, Wren," he sounded grumpy, and a hysterical giggle escaped her lips.

"I am equally astounded by both ideas, my lord," out of her bewilderment she slipped into her previous decorous tone, and he gave her a reproachful glare. It perhaps sounded to him as if she was mocking him, and to erase this expression from his face she rushed to him, pulling her hands out of his, and she threw her arms around his neck. She was pressing into him, not finding words to express her feelings. She could not dare to profess her love to him, but it was overflowing her heart, and she whispered, "I would have accepted both with all my heart..." He exhaled, his chest rose, and his arms went around her as well.

* * *

She prohibited herself to think of what would have been.

She chased away the thoughts that were he alive, he would not have spared her a glance, how splendid his life would have been, and how plain and unassuming she would have seemed to him, of how little the Khazad cared for the likes of her, a woman of Men, weak and pale and so loudly unattractive.

She expelled all her doubts out of her mind, the stubborn misgivings that kept on whispering in her mind of how she was the only person he now could talk to, and the only woman he could touch, and whatever he had just said, she was nothing but his first, last and only chance for carnal pleasures.

* * *

Suddenly he chuckled and stroked her hair at the back of the head.

"Zunshel, I can almost hear your frantic thoughts. Would you care to share them with me?" She moved away, dropped her eyes and shook her head. "Do you doubt my devotion to you?"

"No!" She cried out, jerking her face up. "No..." She fumbled, under the astute look of his blue eyes, and felt blush spill on her cheeks. "I do not… No?" He smirked, joylessly, and then cupped her face.

"Wren, I might be dead, but I am not dim." His eyes were tender, and she sighed softly, trying to look elsewhere, he was reading her too easily. "I do remember the circumstances we are in, and I do not deceive myself, it would have been different were I alive. But right now, right here, I am begging you to believe me. You are in my heart, and it is yours now." His voice was low and velvet, earnesty laced into his tone, and she forgot all her qualms.

"And my heart is yours," she said firmly, and he smiled to her tenderly. She returned the expression, her hands flew up and lay on his chest. She felt his heart beating forcefully, and she splayed her fingers on the solid muscles under the thin layer of his tunic.

* * *

"You will have to lead me here, Wren," there was some impish light in his eyes, he was obviously hiding his insecurity under the jesting, and she did not miss the question lying behind his words.

"I know very little of it, I have had one… association, and it was… insignificant," Wren stuttered through her careful phrasing, and one of King's thick brows cocked up. She sighed, she did not want to discuss her past, but he was giving her an inquisitive look, and she conceded, "I have had one lover. He was the Chief Healer in an infirmary I served in. We entered physical relations, but they were unsatisfying. I am afraid, I am just not alluring enough to entice a man… And cold… I have always thought I was cold… But then with you… It is so different..." She realised how bumbling and embarrassing her words had been when it was already too late to take them back, and now both black brows of King Thorin were hiked up almost to his hairline, and she blushed and started mumbling something inarticulate.

He slightly tilted his head studying her, and she finally grew silent. She had had half a thought of fleeing, when he picked up her hands again.

"I find you very enticing, I have from the start," he said simply, and her eyes flew to his. Her mouth fell half open inelegantly, and she was staring at him. He suddenly guffawed and then leaned in pressing his lips to hers. And instant later, her body already on fire, her thoughts muddled and her skin tingly, she decided that questioning his words would be foolish, and she just melted into the pleasure of his lips on hers, of his hands wandering her body, of his silky hair brushing at her cheek from time to time.

Their passion flared up, their fervour was mutually feeding the ardour in another, and soon it became clear to Wren that as unbelievable as it seemed he indeed desired her.

* * *

She hardly remembered anything from her association with Aldacar, her mentor, it had been years, and she did not lie, their coupling had been… put simply, dull and uninventive. She had been infatuated with him, but her passion passed quickly, once she realised her body did not reflect her intellectual admiration for his talent and his devotion to their craft. Quite soon into their relationships she stopped offering and initiating the carnal endeavours between them, and he seemed rather content with such arrangement. She had just decided she was not a sensual woman.

* * *

At the moment she was inclined to reevaluate her judgement. The King suddenly gasped, and to her own astonishment she realised that both her hands had somehow found their way under his tunic and were now clawing at his chest, his shirt bunched up, and before she could stop herself she tilted her head and bit gently into his beard covered jaw. More so, to her own mortification, she then emitted a lustful and very much pleased moan and placed several more little bites along his jawline until her lips did not reach his ear. The ear had flamed up, and she apparently had lost any shame by then because she caught the heated lobe between her lips.

"Mahal help me..." The King rasped out, and Wren released his ear. She shifted, she needed to see his face, in her own suffocating lecherous muddlement she seemed to have forgotten that it was his first encounter of such nature, and then she saw a rather whimsical expression splashing in his blue irises. He looked equally aroused and terrified, and she felt excruciatingly bashful, for her unrestricted caresses, and for her enthusiasm, and she would have moved away from him, when he grabbed her upper arms and pulled her to his mouth.

The kiss was short, he moved lower, his hot greedy mouth was suddenly on her throat, her head dropped back, and she whimpered when his teeth grazed the sensitive skin on the side of her neck. A comparison with greedy devouring of a fruit popped up in her head, he was sampling, but he was impatient, and then his lips were on her collarbone, and she could hardly understand anything anymore, and the world tilted, she drew breath sharply, as her back hit the bed behind her, and before she could even conceive their new position, he pulled the string on her collar and stuck his nose down the unlaced opening of the healer's robe. She made a strangled noise, but he gave her no time to gather her wits, and his scorching heavy hand lay on her breast.

She was not aware she was capable of a low raspy moan, obviously demanding and lecherous, and yet it fell off her lips, and she arched pushing her body into his hand, showing her pleasure and ordering more, and he was weighing on her, his hands roaming her torso, and she grabbed the hem of his tunic and jerked.

* * *

**A/N: Did I mention it will be a multi-chapter? ;) Knowing our lovebirds they will need several rounds to have their fill :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Bwahaha, ****dearreader****, smut cliffhanger :D And yes, cliffhanger is my middle name ;)**

**Good thing with me you don't really have to wait for an update for long, aye? ;)**

* * *

The tunic slid off his body, she threw it away, and her palms finally lay on his scorching skin. She grazed his shoulders, and then her hands tentatively stroked his sides. Wren was astonished, by how corporeal he felt, and how beautiful he seemed to her. She had never seen a bare torso of a Dwarf, they had never been among her patients, and even a few instants ago she had a secret doubt whether she would enjoy his physiology. The body was wide, heavy, but made of solid muscles, strong tendons, and somehow that had not been on Wren's mind before, his chest was covered in thick coarse hair, stripe of it going down his stomach and disappearing in his trousers. He was looming over her, his hands now pressed into the mattress on two sides of her body, arms straight, and she smiled into his widened, frantic eyes.

"You are so beautiful, Thorin..." His eyebrows jumped up, and she could see his features soften.

"And you are, ushkatul," he smiled in return, and she opened her knees, the hem of her robe slid up to her thighs, and he carefully lay between them. "Am I heavy?"

"Yes," she smiled wider, "In the best possible way." He snorted and caught her mouth again. She slightly turned her head inviting him to explore to his own pleasure, and soon she felt his hot mouth on the side of her jaw, then neck, and he returned the favour of several minutes ago and caught her earlobe between his lips.

"How much time do you think we have, zunshel?" He asked raspily, and it took her a few moments to gather her wits enough to make an assumption.

"I would assume all night… My night… But time moves differently here..." He was now moving down her body, first his nose brushed her clavicles in the collar he had unlaced before, and then she felt his fingers fidgeting with her belt. "If indeed I control this place, we have as much as we want… As much as I want..."

"I know little of it, zunshel, but I gather we will not need all night..." His palms were suddenly on her thighs, under the skirt, and her whole body jolted. He was also placing kisses on her stomach, through the robe, and she understood he had halted. She looked at him and saw him frowning. He was clearly unsure how to proceed, and considering his words he was now remembering what they said of a man's first time of intimacy. She could not allow him to forget his fire of moments ago, and she twisted and picked up her tunic. He moved away, letting her to sit up and take it off. There was a thin gauzy shift under it, plain and unalluring, and drawers, the same white linen ones she wore every day, dull and prudish, and she blushed. Surely, at least in her fantasies she could have conjured something more enticing! But the King was not looking at her garb, his eyes fell on her breasts, and she felt tingly head to toe. His eyes were hungry and, although she did not dare to hope, very much approving.

"You are so gentle, ushkatul, like a dove's wing..." Wren smiled shakily, overwhelmed and surprised by such poetic words from the severe King. "Will I not hurt you, when..?" He trailed away, and she moved closer to him. He was sitting on his knees, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, mimicking his pose.

"You will not, much depends on a woman's desire… And I desire you..." She pushed through her own embarrassment, he was clearly in need of encouragement, and then his fingers hooked at the hem of the slip.

"May I?.." His voice raspy, he hesitantly ran the tips of his fingers on her skin on the thighs, not lifting the hem, and she felt even more enamoured with him for his considerate asking for consent.

"Yes, Thorin, you may." He pulled gently, and then the chemise flamboyantly flew after his shirt. She giggled, the gesture was so unexpected from him, and he smiled to her widely. And then his eyes dropped, he gave her an attentive look, and she felt her skin flush, and almost painful embarrassment overcoming her. She also felt an acute desire to cover up, and then his hands cupped her breasts. Wren gasped, from the heat and calloused skin brushing at her sensitive peaks, and then he tenderly kissed her lips.

"Abnamul…" Throaty sounds of Khuzdul fell off his lips, "Beautiful… So beautiful..." His voice was reverential, and she threw her arms around his neck and pressed into him. Her teats, taut and sensitive, grazed the scratchy chest hair, and goosebumps covered her skin.

"We need to lie down," she choked out, and pulled at his neck, "I need to… I cannot wait anymore, Thorin… Please..." Her voice was high-pitched, she was on fire, and thankfully he was as well, and he suddenly picked her up under her buttocks, shifted, sat down on the bed, and placed her on his lap. Her legs went around him, and she could not even gather how it happened, but she grabbed his shoulders greedily and ground her pelvis into him. Two thoughts flashed in her mind. That now he had every right to think her wanton, and that she should have guessed that a Dwarf would be that well endowed considering the length and thickness of their extremities. She felt his length, and impressive girth, through the soft fabric of his trousers, and she suddenly felt almost relieved it was but a dream. She could not be certain her physical body would be able to receive him.

He was kissing her shoulder, and she twisted from under his mouth, and pushed her hands down, between their bodies. There were strings on his trousers, and she worked them quickly. Under them she did not find any breeches, and her fingers bumped into his flesh. He made a low growl like noise, and she exhaled gathering her courage, and stroked the hot length with the tips of her fingers.

"Mahal help me..." He breathed out, and then the cerulean eyes focused on her. "Do not touch me, ushkatul, not like that… I will not last..." She leaned in and kissed him shortly but passionately.

"You could lie down, and I would..." She stumbled over her words, suddenly mortified that perhaps Dwarven men did not approbate such positions. Perhaps they were to be in charge at all times, and she wondered whether she had just insulted him. He was pondering it, and she started mumbling that surely they did not have to, when he carefully picked up under her arms again and lay back. She was now straddling him, and their feet were somehow on the pillows, but she cared not.

The King Under the Mountain was spread under her, hair scattered on the sheets, eyes open and vulnerable, studying her movement, and she threw all caution and shame away, and sliding down his legs, she grabbed the waist of his trousers and pulled them off.

Indeed, she should be relieved it was just a dream, she thought, such opulence would be simply painful, and she shortly wondered how palpable her bedding him would even be.

"Zunshel, you are not moving..." His as if nonchalant observation shook her out of her gawking of his member, and she looked up. His cheekbones were flaming, quite clearly from acute embarrassment, and to reassure him she threw the trousers off the bed and then rising on her knees she picked up the waist of her drawers. His eyes immediately fell on them, and she bit into her bottom lip. It was too late to flee now, and she closed her eyes and pushed the undergarment down.

She was frozen, suddenly having lost all her spirit, when the massive searing arms of the King Under the Mountain wrapped around her, and he pulled her down, and onto him, she made a funny croak like sound, and her eyes flew open.

"We are almost there, zunshel. And as tremulous as I am, I am rather in a rush," one of the brows crawled up, and suddenly Wren felt merry.

"You do not look tremulous..." Her tone was flirtatious, and he smiled to her.

"I am not, I was trying to hearten you, ushkatul. I have lost my fears when I saw this," his palm stroked her hip, and a shudder ran through her body. "And this," the same palm cupped her buttock, and she suddenly felt heat pooling between her legs, fiery hunger and giddy anticipation, and she sat up sharply on him, feeling her juices on the inner sides of her thighs, and she pressed her hands into his chest.

The world around them stilled, their eyes locked, a small smile trembling in the corners of their lips, and all she felt was love, and trust, and longing, and anticipation, and she shifted her hips, and as if in the thousandth of times his length slid into her, smoothly, stretching her, but causing no pain. They both moaned, loudly, without restriction, her cry high and triumphant, his throaty and as if bearing surprise, and she froze, savouring the moment. She was acutely aware of his heart booming under her palm, and the heat of his body, and she hurriedly opened her eyes to see his face. His eyes were closed, eyebrows hiked up, and altogether the King looked… flabberghasted. Obviously pleased, but flabberghasted.

Wren giggled. She did not want to, if given a choice she would prefer to delegate other emotions to the man underneath her, she would wish him to know how much in awe she was from the feeling of connectedness and closeness she was flooded with now that they were united in flesh, but this very surprised expression on his face just did not leave her any choice. A snort escaped her, and she sank teeth into her bottom lip to suppress her inappropriate frolics.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. She felt suddenly terrified, that he would doubt her fervour, that he would not know how elated she was at that moment, and she opened her mouth to reassure him, when he emitted a very pensive 'hm.'

"Hm?" Wren repeated, clearly inviting him to clarify, and he met her eyes.

"It is not what I expected," his tone was utterly sober, and Wren was suddenly taken aback. She might as well admit it now, she had been feeling rather smug, she had felt she was the experienced one here, showing him the pleasures of carnal matters, opening this new world to him, and now he was lying under her, his face thoughtful, quite clearly listening to some unknown sensations in his body, and she felt almost irritated.

"I am sorry I have disappointed you, my lord," her answer came out much more lippy that she intended, and she bit her tongue, but it was too late. He gave her a studying look and then suddenly sat up, his arms wrapped around her middle firmly, and he pecked her lips.

"Do not gibe, ushkatul, I was merely relieved I had some control over my body and our act had not ended before it even started," he spoke mollifyingly, and feeling immediately more at ease she leaned in and kissed him tenderly.

"There would have been nothing embarrassing about it, such is the physiology of men." She slightly shifted her hips and with pleasure noted the sturdy hot length inside her. "But apparently not of the Khazad. You are maintaining your arousal while having a conversation with me, that is hard, hard work..." She realised that she was purring into his ear, and since it was clearly making him even more aroused, she did what she had been dreaming about for quite a while. She ran the tip of her tongue on the helix of his large Dwarven ear, and he growled.

"It is indeed time we move," she whispered into his ear, and then some memories from her previous experience returned to her, and she tentatively clenched her inner muscles. He barked some word in Khuzdul she could guess was not suitable for proper society, and she felt his arms tighten around her.

She moved her legs, pressing her knees into the bed now, grabbed his shoulders and rocked into him for the first time.


	3. Chapter 3

Pleasure rushed through Wren's body in a searing wave, born from the feeling of fullness and connectedness, from feeling replete and at the same time as if enveloped in him, perhaps from the arms wrapped around her body, or perhaps from her name slipping from his lips in a raspy reverential moan. She started moving, her fingers sunk in the heavy silken strands at the back of his head, her motions smooth and deep, in a faultless forceful precision she had not known she was capable of, and he groaned, pressing her into him more and more, and then climax burst inside her, sudden and overwhelming. One thought, one sensation seemed to exist in her world, she closed her eyes and allowed it to devour her. Nothing was left in her mind, her heart, and her body but the clear and certain understanding of how right it was, to die and live again in his arms, and she sobbed, dropping her head back, her body strained like a string on a harp and then after a few instants limp and soft.

She made a strange mewling sound, she had never heard such whimper from herself before, and then her forehead fell on his shoulder. She was taking sharp breaths in, each exhale accompanied by a soft noise, and then she realised he was frozen. She could feel his tense gaze on her, and she measured her breath, it was a rather difficult task, and after a few more moments she clearly required, she lifted her face and met his eyes. The brows were once again hiked up in some sort of merry astonishment, and she blushed.

"That was… I have reached… The peak of pleasure..." She mumbled, and he suddenly guffawed.

"I gathered that much, ushkatul," he gave her an impish look, "Quite hasty, was it not?" She blushed even more furiously, and he leaned in and pressed a light kiss on her cheek. "I am starting to think all this is a flattery to reassure me of my prowess." One of the black brows jumped up, and she saw a very conceited smirk on his lips. He was quite obviously enjoying the fact that he had not shown himself… hasty in their intimacy, and perhaps she could have pointed out to him that she was the one doing all the hard work here and showing prowess, but she was feeling so very fulfilled and at the same time craving more that she decided to take his arrogant statement as advice.

"But it is nothing but exactly the proof of your prowess, my King," Wren aimed for her most sensual murmur, though she had never even known she had one. Judging by the pleased glimmer in his eyes and almost unnoticeably squared shoulders she was succeeding. "I have never in my life… been rewarded in such pursuits."

"Well, perhaps if you are capable, you could move to gain more of the same reward," he leaned in and placed a row of small kisses along her jaw. Wren decided that a King should not be forced to ask twice.

* * *

She pressed her knees into the bed more firmly and started moving. Still sensitive after her release, she quickly started feeling another wave of pleasure building up in her, and judging by the ragged breathing and by the hands fisted on her shoulder blades the King would follow her suit rather soon. His member grew even larger inside her, and she vaguely remembered the signs of impending climax in a man.

Some sort of greedy frenzy woke up in her, she had all but forgotten of her own release now, and she opened her eyes, watching his face radiant with passion and awe, his eyes shut tight, lips twisted, and she was rising on him and plummeting down, in sharp demanding plunges, bringing him over the edge, and she saw that very moment what the pleasure took him, the blue eyes flew open, wide, bright, and he cried out, crushed her body into his, and she felt the spurt of his hot seed on her inner walls.

She climaxed again, feeling victorious, feeling in love, feeling alive. Her body arched, quaking in excruciating pleasure, uncontrollable, terrifying, exhilarating, and she screamed, unashamed of her unrestricted rapture.

He was speaking, she could not hear, but even if she could, she would not understand, some coarse words in his native tongue were pouring out of him, he was pressing her into him, sobbing and mumbling, perhaps swearing, perhaps expressing gratitude, and she wrapped her arms around his head, rubbing her temple to his, sobbing and moaning herself.

* * *

Wren opened her eyes, her arms slowly slid down, suddenly limp and shaky, and she sighed deeply. He shifted, with an almost inaudible groan, and she slightly moved away, still in the ring of his arms and studied his face.

He looked utterly and undeniably appeased. A small smile was twitching the corners of his lips, and the eyes were still unfocused and squinted in warm content. Wren brushed her thumb between his brows, marvelling in the smoothness of it, his customary grumpy crinkle gone, and then she giggled.

"You look rather satiated, my lord, was it what you expected after all?" Her tone was flirty, and suddenly he gently but rather loudly smacked her right buttock.

"Firstly, are you fishing for praise, zunshel? I am obviously satiated. And secondly, I was not expecting anything, I do not have a habit of walking around musing what bedding a woman would feel like." He was speaking in an haughty tone, quite in contrast to the twinkling eyes and the fact that now his palm was possessively petting the aforementioned buttock. Wren laughed and caught his mouth.

* * *

After a few minutes of unhurried languished busses, he shifted and looked at her.

"It seems you are still here, ushkatul," his hands were tenderly stroking her shoulder blades, and she had never in her life had felt as warm and as comfortable.

"I am indeed," she chuckled, "My mind perhaps thinks that was not a completion."

"Your mind seems rather lascivious then," he kissed her neck, and then again, and she wondered whether she was imagining that his member, still inside her, was waking up to life. And then she mentally confirmed that, no, she was not imagining.

"Ushkatul, could we…?" He murmured into her neck, and she did not let him finish.

"Yes," she felt she was being too eager, but she was feeling her lust rising as well, and then he embraced her firmly and in a swift fluid motion he rolled her on the bed and under him. Her legs as if without her will went around him, she shortly mused that for an unexperienced lover the King surely was showing wonderful skill, when he steadied himself on his elbows and rolled his hips into her. Wren cried out, she had always been fond of the position they had taken previously, being in control seemed to have suit her best, but now suddenly she understood what other women appreciated in having a man where the King Under the Mountain was at the moment. The angle was splendid, her inner walls convulsed, she could not even tell whether she had reached the peak of her pleasure already or it was just feeling his hot body on hers and his length sliding into her that felt that exhilarating, when he suddenly moved slightly away and looked at her.

"Have I hurt you, ushaktul?"

Wren laughed, loudly and happily. And then she grabbed his large Dwarven ears and pulled him to her mouth. He complied, and she kissed him deeply and ardently.

"Quite the opposite, Thorin," she murmured in his lips, "I am in ecstasy." He smiled to her, quickly kissed her mouth and tentatively rolled his hips into her.

* * *

His hesitation and uncertainty passed after the first two thrusts, perhaps he was encouraged by her lustful moans that she seemed to be completely unable to control, perhaps he had guessed that she was enjoying by her lifting her hips off the bed to meet him, but soon enough Wren found herself being enthusiastically bedded by a very vigorously moving Dwarf. He was holding the perfect rhythm, not too forceful, but purposeful, each thrust deep and measured, and Wren squeezed him with her thighs, her hands roaming his back, feeling the hard scorching muscles under her palms, and then his rhythm stuttered, he growled through his teeth, but stopped, breathing laboured. She looked at him in confusion, half conscious by then, from the pleasure, intoxicating, mind-numbing, and he sneered through gritted teeth, "Again… I want you to do it again…"

Wren mewled, she had no strength to demand an explanation from him or to order him to go on, her body was as if submerged in the boiling, magnificent, overwhelming liquid fire that Wren had seen once pouring out of a fire mountain, she was melting and losing herself and feeling whole, and he had stopped!

"Please.. Thorin, more..."

"Again," he kept on demanding something, and she whimpered, "Do it again..."

"What?"

"Reach the peak..." Maiar help her, she surely could not concentrate enough to think of such nuisance at the moment!

"Move, and I will," she would have promised him the Moon at that moment to make him continue, and he finally did, picking up speed, rolling his hips into her, making her pelvis tear off the sheets, and she could not suppress lustful throaty screams anymore, and he shattered in his release, snarling and growling, and taking her with him over the edge. Tears burst out of her eyes, from the feeling of complete surrender and complete victory, and he fell on her, crushing her, and she squeaked and then, when he tried to move away, she sank her nails in his shoulders and squeezed him with her legs not allowing him an inch of freedom.

* * *

'_Mine, mine, only mine...' _She kept on repeating in her mind, and then she froze in shock from such proprietal thoughts. Never before had she thought in such way of anything or anyone, but had anyone tried to deprive her of the King at the moment, she probably would not hesitate to fight for him till the last drop of her blood. He was hers as she was his, and she tenderly stroked his shoulders.

"Forgive me," she whispered, and he mumbled something into her shoulder his nose was pressed into. "Pardon?"

"I asked what you are apologising for," the King had to clear his throat to choke out these words.

"I scratched your shoulders," she guiltily rubbed the pulps of her fingers to his skin, "And your back." Her voice was laced with guilt, and then he snorted.

"You could have buried a dagger into my back just now, I would not have noticed." He groaned then and rose on his elbows. She smiled to him and ran the tip of her index finger down the bridge of the long nose. The King gave her a squinted-eyed, sated smile, that looked very much like an expression on a cat's muzzle after a nice bowl of cream.

He rolled on his side, pulling her after him, and for the first time in her life Wren found out what it was like to curl into a body of a man in what was commonly known as the afterglow of physical love. Wren had to concede nothing could compare to it.

His fingers absentmindedly were playing with her curls, she had her head on his chest, her hand splayed on it as well, her digits threaded through the black hair, and she nuzzled him.

"What does 'ushaktul' mean, Thorin?"

* * *

**A/N: And now I made a post-coital cliffie :D How's that? ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

"It means 'the most kindred,'" the King gently brushed her curls off her forehead, and she rose slightly to look into his face. "It is a moniker most Dwarves use for their wives." There was some sort of melancholy splashing in his blue irises, and in sudden piercing tenderness she pressed her lips to his. The elation of a few instants ago was gone, and she remembered their circumstances. He seemed to be thinking the same, because he suddenly pulled her into him, almost hurting her, and she rolled onto him, spread on him, trying to feel every inch of his scorching body, and they were kissing greedily, lips, and then teeth trying to seize more of each other, in desperation and love, and she whimpered.

"I do not want to leave, Thorin," she sobbed, and he cupped her face and met her wet eyes, she did not notice when tears came.

"Do not leave, ushaktul," he whispered, but there was no conviction in his voice. She sniffled, gathering her will, calling to her sense, chasing away the tears. There was no sense in glooming, she told herself, she was here, with him, and she was to enjoy every instant of it. She slid off him and busied herself with covers and furs on the bed. He was watching her, in merry confusion. "What are you doing, zunshel?"

"I am making us comfortable," she hissed through gritted teeth, from strain of pulling a corner of a sheet from under him, and he chuckled. "Please, move..." He did, and soon enough they were under the covers. He once again pulled her into him, and she took the same position.

* * *

Her fingers were aimlessly drawing swirls on his chest and stomach, she thoroughly enjoyed the sensation of coarse hair scratching the pulps of her fingers, and she wondered what he was thinking about. She peeked and saw his brow frowned, and lips set in a hard line. She immediately changed her mind, she did not want to know. She wanted to lie in his arms, enjoy the cooling of her skin, the tiredness in her muscles, unfamiliar slight soreness inside. She did not want to talk about…

"When I am gone, zunshel," he spoke in a low voice, and she clenched her jaw, "I want you to promise me something… When I am gone..."

"I do not want to discuss it," she spoke sharply, her voice unpleasant, and he stretched a hand, picked up her chin and made her look at him. She stubbornly shifted her eyes, she did not need to look at him. She was perfectly content in pressing her nose in his scorching muscles, breathing his smell and pretending she had every right to be here.

"Ushaktul…" There was soft reproach in his voice, and she gave him a noncommittal hum that could be understood any way he wanted. "Please, look at me." She sighed, stalled as much as she could, and then lifted her eyes. The corners of his lips were lowered mournfully, and there was so much sadness and love in his eyes, that she hissed at him and sat up, pressing her fists into her sides.

"I do not want to talk about when you are gone!" She even raised her voice, but suddenly she could not find a miniscule of patience in her. "I have just bedded a man I love, I do not wish to discuss his impending demise!"

Wren had often wondered if there was a magic in this world that would allow to erase words that had just slipped off one's lips. And she had to once again concede that she would be the one needing such magic most often. His eyes widened, and she bit into her bottom lip. But then she decided that she just could not care.

"What? Why are you looking at me as if I just disclosed to you I am a dragon in disguise?" There was a certain hysterical note in her voice, but she just did not want to talk of death! She wanted to talk of how wonderful it felt to have come together just now, and perhaps she wanted to talk about whether either of them was inclined to suggest to repeat that act. "I love you, and you just have to live with it!"

She was certainly making wonderful progress in saying all the wrong things, and the King suddenly started laughing loudly, tears appearing on his eyes after a few instants of roaring, and then he even pressed his hands to his stomach.

"Mahal help me, what a ball of flame! And with so much scorn no less..." She puffed some air out, she did not see anything funny in their conversation, and he sharply sat up and pulled her on his lap, picking her up unceremoniously under her arms like a kitten. "I am going to teach you a bit of Khuzul, ushaktul..." He murmured into her ear, and she could be wrong, but perhaps there were sensual notes in his velvet voice. She kept her back straight and face haughty. She was not going to soften to his seductive murmurs and stroking her shoulder blades. He had been talking of his passing! "Repeat after me… Men lananubukhs menu." She screwed her eyes at him, but was pressing her lips stubbornly. "Men… lananubukhs... Zunshel, we are having a lesson, you are to take part in it..." There was laughter rolling in his voice, and she shook her head, her curls bouncing around her head. "Quite a yesthar you are for a Dwarf, look at these creased brows…" Another chuckle rumbled in his chest, and she puffs air out again.

"What is a 'yesthar'?" She grumbled, and he buried his nose behind her ear and into her hair.

"A wife that is a good match," he whispered and then caught her lobe between his lips. Wren's heart fluttered, and she wondered whether the King was indeed an inveigler, or a quick learner. Perhaps, the second, she thought, he hardly had had a chance to charm that many women in his life. She wanted to ask, but she remembered they had so little time!

"Men lananubukhs menu," she repeated carefully, and he hummed pleased into her skin.

"That is quite a talent for tongues, ushaktul," he purred, and she sighed defeated. Goosebumps were galloping down her skin, she felt titillated and enamoured. He had all the power over her, and she was foolish enough to be enjoying it!

"What have I just said?"

"That you love me," his lips were sliding down her neck, already on the muscle between it and the shoulder, and she twisted from under his kiss. She was not certain whether he was mocking her, the suspicion made her tense.

"I already had let it slip before, my lord," she hissed at him, but he cupped her face and gave her an earnest look.

"Men lananubukhs menu, Wren," he spoke clearly and pointedly, and her breathing hitched. "Mahal help me, I do..." His voice wavered, and they rushed into frantic embrace, seeking consolation and reassurance in each other's arms, and finding it.

And then lips found lips, and once again she was feeling fire rising in him, and its match inside her, and suddenly he rolled from the bed, she sat up staring at him, and he grabbed her ankles and jerked her towards him. She emitted a surprised yelp, and then he picked her up in his arms and strode to the fireplace.

"Where are we going?" She was staring at him in astonishment, and then he carefully placed her on the furs in front of the fire. She could not say she objected to the new location, but she gave him a questioning look.

"If so it happens it is never to transpire again, I want diverse memories of your body," he was already pushing her knees apart, his voice indecently raspy, and she barked a surprised laugh. "The flames... I want to see them reflected on your skin..." He rose above her for an instant and ran the tips of his fingers over her breasts and her stomach, and she felt her skin burn in an excited blush from her neck to her toes. He gave her another look over, she expected to feel shy but all she saw in his eyes was desire and admiration, and she lifted her arms to him in invitation.

"Come to me, Thorin..."

* * *

Their bodies were cooling, still intertwined, and she pressed a kiss onto his temple. The skin tasted of salt, and she murmured into it, "Will that be a good memory?"

He made an agreeing noise, and rolled on his side, she lay in front of him, facing him, and he blindly battered his hand and pulled a cover over them. She listened to her body, and then pushed it off them, laughing.

"What is it?" He asked and yawned.

"For the first time in my life I am too warm. It is your body, and the fireplace. I am always cold, but right now..." Wren stopped talking. The King in front of her had his eyes closed, long unexpectedly feathery lashes lying under them, and she watched the features of his face soften and relax. His chest was rising in the evening breath, and she looked him over. A large hand lay between them on the fur, and Wren stretched hers and brushed the tips of her fingers on the back of his large palm. There was black hair on it as well, and she traced the veins under the warm skin.

She lay silently, watching him sleep, not questioning it, and just cherishing this moment, for his sake and hers, welcoming the repose he would receive and the chance to be with him for her. Her eyes traced the lines of the beloved face, and even through the nagging pain in her chest, her heart as if constricted and beating weakly in her yearning for him, she felt just a little bit jubilant. She had had him for herself, all of him, she touched and tasted, ran her palms over his wide strong body, and then she put him to sleep, and perhaps it was just a dream, but after all she was just a woman and was entitled to a bit of smugness over sating her lover into slumber.

The soft creak from the door came as no surprise, she rose, gave the last longing look to his sleeping form, and throwing her robe over her naked body she walked out of the bedchamber, through the first hall and out of the doors that opened silently for her.

* * *

**The first night is over. Read the continuation of the story in "Me Without You." **

**If any more M rated chapters are to appear in the main story, they will also be posted here.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: And the pantry duo strikes again :D**

**This chapter can/should be read after Chapter 70 in _M__e Without You, _but is, in all honesty, just a smutty one-piece :D**

* * *

They tumbled into the pantry, and the King grabbed the back of her head pulling her in a rough deep kiss. She made a choked moan like sound, and her body involuntarily arched into him. He was devouring her mouth, his lips, and tongue, and eventually teeth making her more and more aroused and muddled. He nipped on her bottom lip, she moaned louder and grabbed handfuls of his hair. He was all physical, hot, moving and gasping under her arms, there was a low rumble like noise in his chest, and she was losing whatever sense she had left.

She was the first to address the question of clothes on them. She would have found her own behaviour contradictory and almost comical, if she was not as inebriated on his flavour, and smell, and heat.

"We are in a pantry..." Somehow she could not quite unclench her teeth, and it sounded like an unimpressive growl. Meanwhile, her fingers were deftly opening a clasp on the collar of his doublet. "We will be heard… Caught..." She opened the buckle ornate with Dwarven runes and an etching of a raven, and proceeded to the buttons below. "They will hear us… I am somehow loud… With you… Did not know I was loud in loving…" He was biting and kissing her neck, and she pushed the doublet off his shoulders. "What are you doing to me?.. I used to be so prudent..." The doublet got stuck on his lifted arms, since his hands had just flown up to her breasts, cupping them, and she pushed her chest into them with a raspy lustful groan.

"We will gag you..." He growled into her neck and caught her mouth. Her tongue darted to meet his, and she pushed the doublet down demandingly. He complied, jerked his arms out of the sleeves, letting the clobber fall on the floor behind him.

And then he picked up her under her arms and roughly deposited her on the nearest crate. Her shoes fell on the floor with small thuds. The height was just perfect, and then he grabbed her knees and pushed them open, stepping ahead and between them.

It had happened before, on a table with maps in the hall in her dreams. Only this time it felt much sharper; he seemed even more scorching; his hips, which she immediately wrapped her legs around, seemed even more solid, and his erection pressed to her center even larger. She emitted a throaty sob.

"They will hear us..." She repeated, pulling at the ends of the lacing on his waistcoat. He was bunching up her skirt, and then his greedy hot mouth slid down the tendons of her throat, to the collarbones, and then he caught the ends of the strings on the bodice of the dress with his teeth. "Maiar, what is even happening to me?..." She sounded whiny, and he straightened up pulling the string out completely. She stared at him, in the moonlight streaming through a small window under the ceiling of the pantry. His eyes were brilliant, pupils were dilated, their black almost hiding the blue of the irises, and the string was hanging out of his mouth, and she suddenly barked a throaty laugh. "Give me this, you impossible Dwarf..." She pulled the string from out of his mouth, and he suddenly smiled to her with a toothy grin.

"Thorin, are we truly going to copulate in a pantry on a crate with dried beggars' button?" She asked, and he funnily nodded enthusiastically, waves of dark silken hair jumping around his face. She snorted. "It is after all your first time..."

Her sudden sober speech would have sounded much more convincing, were her legs not circling his hips and her hands unbuttoning his shirt.

He hooked the fingers on the collar of her white cotton tunic, that she traditionally wore like all Northmen women under her dress, and he peeked inside with a curious expression, as if into a parcel with a Yuledays gift.

"I feel a crate with herbs is a very appropriate location," he mumbled and stuck his nose down the cut of the tunic. "You are healer after all..."

"It is your first time..." She repeated again and then moaned loudly, when he pushed his hands in the opened bodice of her dress, his hot palms sliding over her ribs. His wrists pushed the bodice open, and then she shimmied her shoulders allowing the top part of her dress to fall and pool around her waist. His fingers danced down her torso, and he hooked them up on the hem of the tunic. She groaned and caught his ear between her teeth.

"You are loud..." He mumbled, dropping his head back. The ears were clearly sensitive. She nibbled on the lobe.

"It is your first time..."

"We need to cover your mouth..."

Wren wondered if they both had sustained some sort of a head injury since they kept on repeating the same, while he was pulling the tunic up, and she was now placing little bites along the beard covered jaw, consequently thwarting each other's efforts.

The King shifted, moved away from her slightly, and cupped her face decisively. He met her eyes, and she stilled, reacting to the change in his mood.

"Wren..." The expression in his eyes was warm, she could see him holding his passion under control, though clearly with difficulty. "Aye?"

She remembered his proposal of marriage, which also consisted of this one word, and she smiled widely into the brilliant beloved eyes.

"Aye," she answered firmly, and he exhaled sharply, rushed ahead and caught her mouth.

* * *

His fingers found the bottom of her shirt again, and this time she readily lifted her arms. The tunic flew on the floor, and she pushed his waistcoat off as well. He cupped her face again, this time tilting her head to cover her mouth with his easier, and she felt her tense peaks brush at his chest, only her thin undertunic and his silk shirt between their bodies.

Suddenly he stepped back, and she whimpered from the emptiness between her legs and the immediate sensation of cold licking at her skin. She blinked frantically, and then realised he moved to the door, trying to lock it. Obviously there was no bolt on it, no one would need one inside, and after a second of consideration he grabbed a long handled wooden scoop for herbs and pushed it into the door handle. Wren gave out an approving hum.

He did not return to her but turned slowly on the spot and gave her a look over. Wren was too muddled to understand what he was doing right away, and she stretched her hands to him, with a weak pleading moan. After an instant of still not having him near, she started wondering if he was having second thoughts. Her mind was clouded, and she drew her brows together, worry seeping through her muddled aroused state.

And then she saw it. He was not having second thoughts. He was savouring the view. His eyes roamed her, she realised he could clearly see her taut peaks through the sheer undertunic, her knees were spread, and her lips probably red and swollen.

"Biratalnasiya," he murmured, sounding very much pleased, and then he licked his lips. "Harasul..." The sounds of Khuzdul rumbled in his throat, and she snarled at him.

"Come here right now!" She sneered at him, and he guffawed. He stepped ahead, and she immediately wrapped her legs around him and pulled him closer, her hands grabbing the shirt now. "Care to translate?" She pulled the hem up, he shifted and bent a bit to let the garment slide off him.

"I should start teaching you Khuzdul..." He was saying something else, but she hardly heard him. His wide chest was in front of her, coarse black hair and white scars covering it, and she shushed him. He froze with his mouth half open.

"Just be quiet for a moment..." she whispered and slowly lifted her hands. Her palms lay on the scorching skin, hard muscles bulging under it, the coarse hair scraping at her skin, and she bit into her bottom lip painfully. She slid her palms lower, the tips of her fingers found a wide long scar under the eighth rib. She brushed the tips of her fingers to it, but then decided that the thoughts on how many times he had come close to dying and never being here with her were quite out of place right now, and she moved the hands up again, treading her fingers in the chest hair. She chuckled, she somehow managed to forget how furry Dwarves were.

"Enjoying yourself?" the King asked. She lifted her eyes and saw one black brow cocked up.

"Immensely," she purred, and he snorted.

"Can I move already? I do not wish to be shushed again." His tone was impish, and Wren felt so easy and enamoured that she leaned ahead and bit a solid pectoral muscle. He inhaled sharply, and she straightened up and met his eyes.

"You may move now." She had delivered the haughty tone perfectly, and he pushed his hand at the back of her head, gathering a handful of her curls and pulling, making her drop her head back.

His mouth was now dancing on her ear, then neck, then shoulder, and she felt his teeth graze the skin. Then he pulled more, making her incline backwards, she tensed, but then felt his other hand splayed between her shoulder blades, and she leaned back on it trustingly. He supported her, then let go of the hair. His finger hooked under the strap of the undertunic and pulled it down.

She cried out coarsely when his lips closed on her peak, and she felt moisture coat her inner thighs. The King sucked, and then his tongue flicked at the sensitive teat in his mouth. Wren cried out, and he let go of her breast and looked up meeting her eyes.

"A gag?" He asked teasingly, and she hissed at him incoherently. He guffawed. "Naye? A belt to bite into, perhaps?" The brow was of course hiked up, and she grabbed the buckle on his trousers and jerked, pulling the belt out completely.

"Don't mind if I do," she snarled back, threw the belt aside, and grabbed his shoulders. She pulled his close, at the same time sitting up straighter, and her hands lay on the waist of his trousers. "But perhaps we can find a better use for my mouth..."

The kiss was fierce, almost bruising. Wren was still hungry, although it felt like there was no air coming into her lungs, and then her feet replaced her hands on the King's hips, while her hands pulled at his ears, demanding him to move closer.

She pushed the trousers down, and he hissed sharply.

"Mahal, do not yank..." He mumbled, let go of her for an instant, and pushed the breeches and legwear down altogether. Wren pushed him away, pressing her hands into his shoulders, and looked down, shamelessly staring at his member.

"What are you…?" the King mumbled, trying to move back closer to her, but she held him away on the straight arms.

"I want to see," she breathed out.

"Why?" he asked distractedly and impatiently. His arms were much longer, and while she was still gawking, he pushed his hands under the skirt and started rummaging there, clearly searching for a way to take off her drawers.

"I forgot how large it is… And everything is different… this time… More corporeal… Sharper..." She was panting, her head spinning, and the King hummed agreeing. He found the strings of the bloomers, pulled them open, and was trying to drag them off her. "It might hurt… It most likely will..." Her tone grew pensive.

That made him stop, and he looked into her face.

"It will?" He asked, sounding perplexed. She saw him take a deep breath in, and he pulled his hands back. She had not been aiming for such result, but felt fierce gratitude to him for becoming immediately preoccupied with her well-being.

"Well, I have not lain with a man in years… In waken state, that is..." she mumbled, lowering her face, feeling suddenly bashful. "It had been so long… And it is so large… And thick..."

"Are you flattering me, ushaktul?" the King's voice was playful, and she lifted her eyes. He was smiling to her softly, clearly trying to reassure and comfort her with a jest, and she exhaled through rounded lips.

"I am not… Could we proceed slowly, please?" She realised how decorous her request sounded and snorted. She saw lovely wrinkles run in the corners of the King's eyes, and he chuckled and tenderly kissed her lips.

"We will, my heart. And besides, it will end quickly..." He made a funny nonchalant face, wrinkling his nose in a mock casualness. "After all, it is my defloration." Wren emitted a choked laugh, and pressed her hand over her mouth to stiffen slightly neurotic giggles. "Again." The King shook his head in a mock exasperation. "How many times will I have to go through this?.."

"Last time it did not end that quickly," Wren reminded him and stroked his chest, immediately distracted by the glorious sensation of the hot skin and rough hair under her palm.

"Do not patronise me, Wren," the King grumbled with a mock frown, and she giggled again. His eyes were laughing, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I love you." She did not know where such guileless and unrestricted words came from. She of course did, but they had never spoken of it that openly. She had once yelled into his face in anger, and they had said the words in Khuzdul once, but it felt easy and natural now. Except she did not know how it would sound to him. She saw emotions splash in his irises, and he was silent for a moment, pondering something. And then, before she had time to grow worried, he smiled to her softly.

"And I you," his voice was low and velvet, and so very ardent and sincere, and she ravelled in it for an instant and then shook off her mawkishness and grinned back.

"And now to the deflowering..." she gleefully announced, and he emitted a short throaty laugh and pulled her to his lips.

* * *

Without tearing her mouth from his, she pressed her hands into the crate and lifted her whole body up on them. He caught up on her idea and bent slightly, his lips on her collarbones now, and he grabbed and pulled off her boomers.

The mouths met again, tongues danced and intertwined, and she opened up to him readily. She felt the tip to press into her folds, and she pulled him even closer, her fingers curling into his shoulders. He gasped into her mouth, his arms around her, pressing her close, almost crushing her, and then he pushed into her. His body was shaking, he was restraining himself, and a second before the world disappeared and everything that was left was him, she sank her teeth in his shoulder, remembering to try to be quiet.

It had been wise, since she screamed when the ridge of his member caught on the tight ring of her muscles, and then he slid deeper, filling her, stretching, and she quaked, from the overpowering pleasure. He froze, she was shaking and sobbing into his skin, and he dropped his head, her hair fell ahead, brushing at her nape, and they stayed still for a few instants.

He shifted first, straightening up, and he searched her eyes, probably trying to see if she hurt. She was breathing through gritted teeth, still not capable of a single coherent thought.

"Ushaktul?" he asked, his voice shaking, and she sat up straighter. His member in her shifted from her movement, and the King hissed something in Khuzdul. Wren assumed it was likely to be something quite crude. "It seemed so much easier last time..." His tone was slightly uncertain, and she opened her eyes that she had not realised had been closed.

"Last time it was just our minds. And apparently in your mind, you underestimated your… manhood," she breathed out, and then carefully lifted her legs, which had been passively hanging off the crate, and encircled his waist. He groaned. "If it makes it any better for you, I am as much as being deflowered here as well. It has been so long as if it never even happened. And you are probably twice as thick… And a time and a half longer…"

"It is not sheathed fully yet..." he rasped, and Wren gave him an incredulous look. And then she looked down between their bodies, and had to concede the King was indeed only half way in. Wren would have cursed if she had such habit, but then she decided that, as they said, in for an inch, in for a… dozen. Wren gulped and then cautiously dug her heels into his buttocks encouraging him. He groaned and obliged.

Wren breathed through it, and finally they were impossibly close, her arms around his neck, his wrapped around her middle, and their temples pressed to each other. If before she felt she had been stretched to the limit, now she was almost terrified to move. Surely, there was no possibility for her to allow a single modicum more into her.

The King pressed his lips to her temple.

"Is it different for you too?" She suddenly asked and shifted to meet his eyes. They were burning and hungry, but he was immobile.

"Aye. From the start..."

"How?" she kept on asking. She suspected she was furtively stalling.

"You feel… different… Even at the time in the village... the first kiss..." the King squeezed his eyes, clearly trying to concentrate.

"Different how?" she persisted, and suddenly he growled at her.

"Can we talk later?" His eyes were pleading and irritated at the same time, and she pressed her forehead to his.

"Just be gentle..." she whispered, and he sighed gratefully.

He tentatively rolled his hips into her, and she cried out. It was slightly painful, but not sufficiently for her to halt him. He froze for an instant, probably trying to ascertain she was alright, but she spurred him with her heels. Her hands were on his shoulders, fingers splayed in the scorching skin, feeling the muscles moving, and she arched into him. He started moving, more confidently and deeply with each thrust, and soon she moved her hands and placed them behind her, supporting herself on straight arms. Her head dropped back. He was slowly leaning into her, his lips fell on her exposed neck, and he placed an open mouthed kiss on her throat. He sucked, and she felt the teeth to join into the caress. It would leave a bruise, and there was something intentionally possessive in this gesture of his, and she moaned raspily.

"Ushaktul… Kurdu… Love..." he rasped into her skin, his hips pushing into her, harder, and more and more demandingly, and she opened her legs wider, and then her arms gave in, and she fell back on the crate. He once again hissed some harsh phrase in Khuzdul, and then he grabbed her hips, his fingers digging into her skin, probably also leaving bruises, and he thrust again and again. She wailed. The member was hot, and thick, and she felt overextended, blind and deaf to anything around her, except for the ecstatic sensation of physical union with him.

He picked her legs under the knees, and his movement became even sharper, as if it were possible, his length would slide immensely deeply into her, and she emitted a holler.

"Quiet, love..." he hissed at her, and she thrashed under him, trying to gather some wits, and then she lifted her hand and bit into her curled index finger.

Apparently satisfied with such arrangement, he grabbed her right leg under the knee tighter, while his left hand slid under the undertunic and onto her breast, grasping it forcefully. Wren's teeth sank deeper into her finger, stiffening a lustful, pleased moan, but not completely. Muffled moans were still escaping, and apparently they were working on the King's libido, since he picked up the speed, and his hips were snapping, and she arched her back, taking him even deeper, and then he groaned loudly and released into her. She felt the spurge of his hot seed hitting her inner walls, his member twitching but not losing its rigidness, and she clenched the muscles, milking him, moaning loudly and unrestrictedly, because nothing could compare to the pleasure of feeling his rapture inside her, and she cared not how loud she was, and then her own pleasure took her. She quaked, only her shoulder blades on the crate, her back arched, and her hands flew to her hair, tangling into the curls and pulling. She was pushing her hips into him as well, trying to prolong the most exquisite pleasure she had experienced in her life.

* * *

In an instant all breath was knocked out of her when a hot and very, very heavy body of a carnally sated Dwarf fell on her.

"Ooph…" Wren exhaled and battered his shoulders weakly. "Maiar, you are like a..." She shook her head, but no words for an adequate comparison came. "You are crushing me..."

"Just give me a jiffy..." the King groaned, his voice funnily nasal, and Wren realised his nose was probably squished to the side by the surface of the crate he dropped his head on. That made her giggle, and he groaned again.

"You are choking me..." he mumbled, sounding completely content with it. "And tickling..."

"I am choking you because you are immense, and I had had no experience…"

"You can stop flattering me, ushaktul… I think I am done for now..." He pushed himself up on his elbows, with a groan, and she found herself nose to nose with a very satisfied looking King Under the Mountain. The corners of his lips were twitching in a smile, and eyes were soft and shiny. "Are you quite alright, my heart?" he asked, sounding slightly worried all of a sudden, and all Wren could do was to start laughing loudly. Which made the King pull away from her, probably to protect his member from further tortures.

He tried to rise and straightened up, but swayed, and grabbed the nearest shelf to support himself. Wren gave it a thought and admitted to herself that she just did not care that she was spread on a crate of dry herbs, her skirts bunched up and the bodice pulled down, all of the dress around her waist, her undertunic hiked up, her breasts bared to the air. She stared at the ceiling, feeling a smile tugging at her lips as well.

"That is an interesting expression you are wearing, my heart..." The King apparently had sufficiently recovered, since Wren heard him rustle with some garments and moving in the pantry.

"I have no strength to guard my face at the moment..." Wren drew out blissfully.

"Please, don't. It is quite enjoyable. I will look forward to seeing it again." The King chuckled, and she finally lifted her head and looked at him. He was standing, giving her a merry look over, her bloomers dangling on his index finger. "Would you like some aid to rise, ushaktul?"

Without answering, Wren stretched her hand to him and wiggled her fingers. He snorted, grabbed her hand, and pulled her up carefully. She sat up and somehow found him between her legs again.

"I lied before..." He murmured, leaning in to her. She hiked up her brows and hummed questioningly. She felt too sated and elated for her mind to jump to any unpleasant assumptions, and by then she had grown both attuned to his moods, and confident he only meant something good. She would have wondered about such credence towards him, but somehow she felt she fully trusted him these days. The King lowered his lips onto her naked shoulder, and the kiss was featherly but no less passionate.

"And that lie was..." she murmured, tilting her head, offering him the side of her neck for caresses.

"I am not done."

* * *

He was not done after two more bouts, and she apparently was not after the third one. Many hours later they stepped out of the pantry, she was certain some clothes were put inside out, and surely their hair was the most obvious indication of what had transpired, but thankfully they did not encounter anyone on the way to her room.

In the door to it, he cupped her face and kissed her gently.

"I will see you tomorrow, ushaktul..."

"Today," she murmured into his lips. "It is almost dawn."

They laughed softly, kissed some more, and with the promise to meet in the stables, he was to leave to Erebor in the morning, they parted. Wren fell on her bed, falling asleep seemingly before her head touched the pillow.

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon: July 15th, 2015**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

_**Summary:**_

_Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer, who after several hours of delirium from flu wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs in her bathroom._

_John, stuck in her flat in a snowstorm, is an archeologist working with her flatmate's boyfriend._

_Renee, frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her childhood trauma history, is nothing but disturbed by the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves, but perhaps he can become the first breath of spring in her frigid world._

_Renee's story is a story of healing and self-discovery._

**LAST CHANCE!**

**(not really but there are just nine days left :D)**

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	6. Chapter 6

**Post Chapter 76**

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He toppled her onto the cot, almost smacking all air out of her, and the hand pulled at her collar, greedy lips on her collarbones, and then the second hand was suddenly on the bare skin of her breast, and she gasped, with voice interweaved into the inhale, and her body shuddered. Everything was sharpened, acute, he was almost mad and greedy and hungry for her, and she gave in, and opened her legs letting him press his member into her center, through layers of his clothes, her skirt and underskirt bunched up on her waist already.

"Wren, my Wren… my heart..." he raspily whispered into her skin, and she arched into him, marvelling at and almost terrified by the lust and starvation that made his voice break and his body shake. "Can we?.. Can we, Wren?.."

"Yes, Thorin, yes..." she whispered, not understanding why he was asking, since she was so clearly welcoming his, though intimidating, fervour.

"The Khazad do not… When there is a child, we do not… touch the woman..." He suddenly jerked, his arms straight, pressed into the cot on the two sides of her torso, keeping his body away from her, but she understood, and lifted her arms, and brushed her palms on the sides of his face.

"It will not harm the babe, my heart," she spoke softly, and he met her eyes. She was brushing her fingertips to his beard, running them along the beloved features, and his blue irises lost the madness and the anguish. "It will not, worry not..."

He held her gaze for a few seconds, and then exhaled noisily, and lunged ahead, and claimed her mouth. And she understood again, understood how he finally believed, and accepted, that there was no death for him now, but life, and that the child was that life, and she was his, and this babe was, and she wrapped her arms around his neck tenderly, returning his fire with her gentleness and softness, providing comfort, and the promise of forever.

He jerked the belt of his trousers, his doublet and waistcoat flew on the floor across the room, and she pulled the skirts up, and he growled impatiently when his scorching palms found her bloomers, and she made a comforting noise, one hand stroking the silken strands at the back of his head, the second one pushing her undergarment down, and he shook, and waited, but she could see he had but instants left in him, and as soon as he could, he pressed his tip into her folds. She gasped and breathed out his name. And with gratitude and ecstatic happiness she noticed it was enough to halt him, and he froze, and looked into her eyes, and the mouth, previously twisted in a pained grimace, relaxed, and a beautiful smile bloomed on his lips.

"My Wren..." he whispered, and she smiled back.

His length slid into her, and she arched, and groaned throatily, welcoming him, and she pressed his head down, to herself, and he thrust, and again, and she chanted his name and all the words of love she knew and that now belonged only to him, and they moved, and breathed, and loved, it was over quickly, but in just those perfect minutes that brought them both over the edge, together and in unison. Wren cried out, rapture quaking her body, and he breathed out her name, and something else, tender and passionate, in Khuzdul and Common Speech, but she could not hear, her mind and her heart and her body flooded by him.

He was keeling over, but shifted, heavily slumping on the cot near her, and then he jerked her into him, and she rushed into the embrace, and their limbs tangled and mouths met, the passion stepping away, at the back of their minds, but never completely, and complete and perfect tenderness taking its place.

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**Mid Chapter 77**

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"Teach me to ask for more, Thorin," she whispered into his ear and felt his body jolt under her hands. "That will be my first lesson. Teach me to beg for more..."

The King grabbed the back of her neck, tilted her face and attacked her lips in a searing kiss. Her head swam, and she grasped handfuls of his hair, pulling perhaps painfully. She moaned into the kiss loudly and arched into him.

"_Umal_, Wren..." the King rasped and bit into her bottom lip. "_Umal_… That is the way to ask for greater pleasure..."

"Umal, Thorin," Wren repeated, into his lips. "Umal, my King..."

And he toppled her on the bed. The tone of their loving changed, with agreement on the journey and Wren's vision having finally been achieved. Wren felt warmth spreading through her body, from the comforting realisation of accord between them. She was glad to finally have told the King of the vision, and that she was now not alone in carrying this burden, and she laughed into his greedy mouth. He was also moving slower, savouring sensations, the first mad hunger already sated, and no urgency left in him, but kindred merry desire.

"So sweet..." he murmured into the her neck, "So gentle..." Wren blushed, in pleasure from hearing such praise. She felt elated that he enjoyed her, and she let herself cherish him in return.

Her hands wandered, she quickly picked up the hem of his tunic, and pulled. He helped her, lifting his arms one by one, letting the opulently embroidered silk slide off his torso, and she splayed her hands on his stomach, her fingers curling into the thick stripe of black hair on it.

"So much better than in my dreams..." she blurted out and blushed even more furiously. He chuckled and opened the bodice of her dress.

"Why is it better?" he asked, his lips caressing her collarbones, and she sighed, her skin tingling in sweet craving for more of the sensation of his beard scraping at her skin. Her dress was carefully taken off, and the King threw an approving look at her peaks visible through the gauzy fabric of the chemise.

"It is harsher, and your beard tickles..." Wren muttered, feeling bashful but having given up on controlling her blabbering. He laughed softly and rubbed the aforementioned beard to her shoulder. She realized it was bare and threw a surprised look at it. Apparently the King had slid the undertunic off her shoulder and now was kissing the skin there.

"I think it is time..." the King murmured, in a low velvet voice, and Wren felt some muscles clench under her navel.

"Time?" she asked, running her fingers through the thick chest hair, and the King hummed and started insistently pulling the chemise off her body.

"To count these freckles..." Wren gasped, reminded of the ridiculous conversation she led with him in her muddled state at the feast, and the words of Dain Ironfoot.

_"The Line of Durin has a weakness for coppered gold." Apparently the Lord of Iron Hills considered his joke to be exceptionally funny, and he kept on banging on the table, and then he clapped Thorin's shoulder. "And you know what they say about freckles..."_

_"What do they say about freckles?" Wren could not summon herself why she was asking. It was definitely the 'liquid bread' that was coursing her blood and that she for no conceivable reason took another large sip of._

_"Another freckle, another son." There was unadulterated sensuality in the King's murmuring that trickled into her ear, and she choked on her drink._

_"Well, Thorin here is being rather bashful," Dain gave Wren a mischievous look. "The exact translation would be 'another freckle, another night to make a son.'"_

Wren stared at the King, and he gave her a wide brilliant smile.

"Is there in actuality such saying? About sons and freckles?" Wren asked, and the King nodded, his smirk lopsided now. "I have been mocked so much for them as a child," she shared bashfully. "And Men seem to abhor them..."

"They are beautiful," the King interrupted softly, and Wren could not hide a happy grin. The King traced paths between them on her shoulder. "Like specs of gold… And the skin is like silks of Gondor..."

"You are such a charmer, my King," Wren murmured, her skin flushed head to toe now. She had never felt beautiful in her life, but it was becoming increasingly difficult not to feel desirable under his merry look, and his tender lips, and caressing fingers. He kissed the shoulder again.

"You do tend to help me discover new gifts in me, ushaktul." He pushed his hands under the bottom of her chemise, fingers splayed on her skin and slid up. She lifted her torso off the cot, and he pulled the undertunic off. A small uneasy thought rushed through Wren's mind, she was bare in front of him now, and she remembered her bony shoulders, and ribs, and the small unimpressive breasts, but he hummed approvingly and leaned in, and his lips closed over a peak, and she felt the tongue brush it, and a loud raspy moan fell from her lips without her will.

"Sanyasith..." he whispered, and she pushed her hands into his mane, tangling her fingers in the ebony and silver, feeling the thick braids hiding in the soft waves.

"Are we learning new words, my lord? What is the meaning of 'sanyasith'?" she panted out, and he switched to another breast, his lips caressed the peak, and then he kissed her sternum between them.

"'Perfect wife,' so very fitting..." He threw her a good-natured teasing look, and she suddenly felt bold and pressed her hands in his shoulders, and rolled him under herself on the cot, shifting and straddling him.

"I am not. I am stroppy, and have the mind of my own, and you have just accused me of being as elusive as the water in a river." Wren pecked his lips showing she was jesting.

"I can handle an independent wife, as long as she is loyal to me." He smiled as well, as if asking not to take his words seriously. Wren knew better by then. His insecurities were now familiar to her.

"Well, how fortunate you are! You will not find anyone who would be more devoted to you..." She lowered her face to him while speaking. "_Men lananubukhs menu,_ Thorin." The words of love he had taught her in their first night, in the hall on her dreams, slipped easily off her lips.

The King's eyes widened and Wren laughed happily.

"I have always been exceptionally good with languages." She always thought she was thusly compensating for her faults in other matters, but it was no time for self-deprecation now. It was time for love, and happiness, and enjoyment.

"I am familiar with your talent in tongues, my heart," the King rumbled, and she blinked trying to determine whether that were indeed an innuendo, and then he grabbed the back of her head and pulled her to his lips, and whispered into her eyes, "Men lananubukhs menu, Wren."

Wren had never previously engaged in such act where a woman would be on top of her lover, but the King picked up her buttocks, and she expected him to switch their position, but he slightly lifted her, and she felt thrilled and adventurous, and she aligned them, and he helped her sink on his length. She was loud again, the stretching, and the tension, and the rubbing felt all new and exciting, and he bucked his hips, and raspily groaned, and she moved, and it came naturally. She rolled her hips, her hands on his chest, and he met her, his pelvis jumping up on the cot.

"Mahal... More, Wren... More..." he choked out, and she threw her head back, pushed her hands into her curls and moved faster and more demandingly. He was unravelling underneath her, and the intoxicating sensation of power ran through her body.

"You… are… supposed... to… say… 'umal'... Thorin..." She moved, and teased, and he growled, and his hands grabbed her waist, and he made her sink lower, while he was bucking on the cot. She raspily cried out, her hands squeezed her breasts, she did not know where it came, but the King saw and covered her hands with his.

"Mine... All mine..." he snarled through his teeth, and she laughed salaciously.

"Brute!.." she breathed out, not stopping the forceful movements of her hips, and he growled even louder. "So hot, so much..." Her mind meddled, thoughts jumbled, and she leaned ahead, clawing at his chest, picking up her speed, jumping on him, again and again, and he raspily cried out, and climaxed. She sank nails into his skin, squeezed her eyes, and then her own rapture exploded in her stomach and ran in a devastating wave of heat through her whole body.

Wren slumped on him, her arms and legs like ribbons, her breath coming out in laboured exhales, her throat scratchy. She perhaps had been loud. Her nose was full of his magnificent smell, the spicy grassy aroma of his skin, and juniper soap, and she pressed a kiss to his shoulder. The skin was salty.

The long massive arms went around her, and she sighed in utter unadulterated happiness.

"That was a very informative language lesson," Wren asserted, and the King started guffawing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Dedicated to ****ChizomenoHime****: you are such a generous reader/reviewer! So, I whisked a little something for you (in half an hour between my errands :D) after getting your review for "Me Without You" :)**

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_**After the events of Chapter 102...**_

Wren landed in the tub, hot water splashing around her, and she laughed. She pressed her hand over her mouth, not quite sure how much sound penetrated the walls of the rooms they were placed in.

"I am still wearing my undergarments, you brute!" she snorted, and indeed, her gauzy chemise and bloomers were now stuck to her body, soaked.

"And what a view they present!.." the King purred, licking his lips. Wren suddenly felt so aroused that - instead of washing quickly and getting repose that they all deserved after a combat, and long journey, and all the emotional turmoil - she decided she needed a night of lechery with her husband. After all, they had been deprived of each other's intimate company for several days.

She rolled on her stomach, keeping her head above the water, her bum floating up, like a buoy on a lake. That produced a loud, animalistic growl inside the King Under the Mountain, he jerked off his undertunic and pushed down his trousers together with his breeches, and started climbing into the tub. His hand lay on her buttock even before he managed to sit down. Wren giggled. And then they both moved, fitting it, intertwining, and he caught her mouth.

Sand screeched on the teeth, and Wren tore her mouth off his.

"We should wash first, Thorin." The King was clearly failing to hear her, as his lips and even teeth travelled down her neck, and he sucked at her throat greedily. "Thorin... My body needs repose. I am growing your son in it..."

That made him stop, and he slightly moved away from her.

"Forgive me, my heart..." His voice sounded sincerely regretful, and Wren pressed a finger to his lips.

"I did not mean we need to go to sleep. I just meant, it is best if we wash first." She picked up a cloth and soap bar from the edge of the tub. "Here... I will undress, and you can wash me. And then I will return the favour. And then..." She leaned in and brushed her lips to his cheek above the deliciously coarse beard. "We will test how stable this Dwarven bed is."

The King seemed rather content with this plan, as he started energetically rubbing the soap bar to the cloth, lathering thick fragrant foam. Wren smiled to him and pulled the chemise off her body. The King's eyes immediately fell on her peaks.

Wren was sitting across his lap, and it took quite a lot of shuffling and shifting to take off her bloomers, which seemed to make the King's member, already erect and hard, grow seemingly even longer and thicker.

Wren carefully placed her garments into a basin, clearly put for that purpose near the tub, and she sat facing the King, her legs around his waist. He was by then eagerly awaiting her with the cloth in his hand.

To be honest, Wren expected him to brush the cloth to her skin a time or two, and then lose his composure and ravish her. They had been overtaxed, shaken by the experience of nearly dying just the night before, and in combination with abstinence of the last few days, she thought he'd be unable to control his passion.

Instead he gently picked up one of her hands and started washing it, in tender feathery strokes. One finger after another was tended to, and then he moved up, to the wrist, turning the hand carefully palm up, and then the forearm, and her elbow, and then even closer to her shoulder. Wren was watching his face, surprised by the tender, somewhat melancholic expression on it. She wondered if she should ask him, but then decided against it. If there were something he wanted to talk about, he would mention it, she assumed.

And she was right. The King carefully put her hand down, on his chest, and picked up the second one. He washed her fingers, the palm, and then without slowing down his soft gentle caresses he spoke quietly, "I had never in my life been scared as I was last night."

"It is understandable, my heart," she answered softly. "And I am sorry for the warriors you lost today." He nodded, his eyes still on the measured movement of his hand on her skin.

"I saw an arrow enter your body, Wren. It is not something I want to ever see again." Wren moved the hand he wasn't washing and cupped his jaw.

"I am sorry, my heart..."

"My first thought was of the babe. That it was in danger..." This time the King's voice was almost inaudible, and Wren rubbed her thumb to his beard. And then she realised that what she thought was the worry lingering in his eyes and in the bitter lines near his mouth was instead... shame. She tilted her head, pondering the man in front of her. And then realisation dawned.

"Thorin, are you ashamed of worrying of your child before me?" she exclaimed, and a grimace ran the King's face. She saw his jaws clench, and she pulled the other arm out of his grasp and embraced him around the neck. He was hiding his eyes from her.

"Thorin, please, look at me. You have nothing to feel ashamed of. I would feel the same way!" He lifted his face slowly, and their eyes met. Wren gave him a small encouraging smile. "You are a Dwarf, my heart. Nothing matters more to you than your child. And I am sure in equal circumstances I would feel the same. When Thror grows up, and the two of you travel, I will worry of him more than you."

Wren spoke, hoping to reassure the King, and instead she saw his eyes widen and some sort of vast, devastating emotion flood his features. Wren froze, her eyes roaming his face, trying to determine what this emotion was, when the King gulped and rasped out, "Thror?"

"Oh..." Wren exhaled. She forgot to share this knowledge with him. "In my latest dream when I saw Dain, I saw a nursery, and a rattle… Silver one, with ravens on the handle… It had the name on it. Thror, son of Thorin..." The more Wren talked, the more pale the King was growing. "Thorin?" Wren asked concerned for him.

"Were there little sapphires in the birds' eyes, and were they sitting on a large half open trunk?" he asked, still taking some alarming short gulps of air.

"Yes, they were... but Thorin, are you quite alright?" Wren pressed her hand to his neck, worried for his heart. And suddenly he pulled her in, crushing her. "Thorin..."

"Sh-h-h… Give me a jiffy..." he muttered, and Wren stilled, and embraced him tightly in return. They sat in the water for a while, and then he inhaled purposefully and moved her to look into her face, but still keeping her in the circle of his arms.

"It was mine… My rattle. With three ravens, sitting on a trunk. It had no name engraved on it. According to my father, when it was made and shown to me, I felt instant fancy for it, and they didn't have time to add my name on it. It is somewhere among the treasures of Erebor."

Wren smiled to him wider. An image of him, as a babe, popped in her mind, and she giggled.

"What were you like when you were a child?" she asked, and stretched her hand. She ran her fingers through his hair and then twirled on ebony thread around her finger.

"I was a gift from Mahal. Those caring for me had no complaints." Wren giggled. Somehow, she doubted the truthfulness of his words, which she expressed by giving him a sarcastic look. The corners of his lips curled up in a half hidden smirk. But then his face grave again.

"So, this is not... Dain you are carrying under your heart?" he asked, and his scorching heavy palm lay on her stomach.

"Not according to what he said in my dreams."

"Thror..." the King pronounced slowly, his voice reverential. "Thror, son of Thorin..." Wren leaned in and kissed him tenderly.

"And your worry for him only means what a wonderful father you will be..." The King lifted his eyes to her, a storm of emotions splashing in them.

"Father… I have just realised I am going to be a Father..." His voice was raspy, eyes brilliant blue.

"You are, my love. And an excellent one." Wren kissed the King again, and this time he returned the caress.

And then their arms went around each other's bodies, lips were moving more and more forcefully, and fire and heat were growing between them and in their bodies, and then Wren rose slightly, and the King understood her intention without discussing it, and he pushed his hand under water and led his member to her entrance. Wren sank on him, and they both moaned loudly.

Their love was passionate, but restrained. They were savouring the movements, the taste, and the tough, celebrating living, and the new life growing in Wren, and their rapture came in a sweet slow wave, simultaneous, and devastating.

They hurriedly washed each other and climbed out of the tub. Wren pulled on a nightdress she had in her travel sack, the King only put on fresh breeches. And they slid under thick warm blankets and covers. Wren couldn't keep her eyes open, but already half asleep she mumbled into her husband's chest she was settled on, "Tomorrow… before we go to see the babes… I need to talk to you… before it, it is important..."

"Of course, my heart..." the King sounded no less drowsy, and she felt him press his lips to the crown of her still damp hair. "We shall speak tomorrow..."

"It is already today..." Wren mumbled, but the King didn't answer, as he was fast asleep already.


End file.
